


Dossiers and Enthymemes

by nightvesper



Category: Big Wolf on Campus
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightvesper/pseuds/nightvesper
Summary: Tommy stirred from his bed of dirt and thornbushes and blinked down at them in confusion. The sharp spears of the plants had embedded themselves down the length of his arm where he lay on top of them. His head throbbed and his limbs were stiff and uncooperative. One foot was dangling up and behind him over a tree branch. It seemed he'd tripped over it and injured himself.Where was he?More importantly, who was he?





	1. One

 

Tommy stirred from his bed of dirt and thornbushes and blinked down at them in confusion. The sharp spears of the plants had embedded themselves down the length of his arm where he lay on top of them. His head throbbed and his limbs were stiff and uncooperative. One foot was dangling up and behind him over a tree branch. It seemed he'd tripped over it and injured himself.

Where was he?  
More importantly, who was he?

Feeling woozy, he looked around at the green surrounding him: a forest. None of it looked familiar. He stood up and hissed in pain as the thorns pulled free of his skin. Blood oozed from the open wounds.

He sighed, looking up at the setting sun. He needed to get home, wherever home was. After fumbling through his pockets he discovered a plain brown wallet with a license inside.

“Dawkins, Thomas P. 1236 Ogden Street. Pleasantville,” he read aloud hoping it would sound familiar. It didn’t.

“Thomas,” he said again with emphasis, but the word was meaningless. Tommy flipped it over and then back again. He was eighteen years old. 6'1". Hazel eyes. Not an organ donor. A frown crossed his face. Why wouldn't he want to be an organ donor?

Tommy leafed through the rest of the wallet for any other clues to his identity. Three dollars in crumpled singles and a ticket stub that read ‘Leprechaun 3’. Not very helpful. A scent on the air caught his nose. Something comforting and…familiar. Home? He had no idea how to find his house from the middle of nowhere at night even _with_ an address, so he decided to trust his instinct and follow the scent instead.

\----------

After fifteen minutes or so of walking, the trail led him to a simple looking two story house. Everything was dark except for a single window glowing from the downstairs, and a hearse was parked outside. Very strange. Tommy checked the street sign: Elm Street, not Ogden. This was definitely wrong. He had no idea why he was here, but something had drawn him and without his memory he nothing else to go by.

After approaching the door to the downstairs and taking a deep breath, he knocked. Too late he remembered the state of himself, clothing torn and blood drying on his arm. It was probably an intimidating sight, and he prayed whoever lived here would take pity rather than call the police.

“Hello?” asked a cautious voice from the other side. Not deep but decidedly male.

“Hello,” Tommy responded, not sure what else to say.

The door swung open, and Tommy found himself face to face with a young man he guessed to be approximately his same age. He was a full six inches shorter than himself, pale and petite, with spiked black hair. His clothes were odd and he wore black from head to toe.

“Tommy! Since when do you knock?” The young man ushered him inside.

With only a slight hesitation, Tommy followed. ‘Tommy’, he had called him. This guy must know who he is.

The room he walked into was weird. Skulls and jars of mysterious contents sat atop stained oak shelves. The warm glow of a candelabra cast shadows over a number of antique weapons and manuscripts. It didn’t _smell_ wrong though. Tommy couldn’t for the life of him figure out why the smell of a place should make any difference, but it did. And this room smelled of clean linens and candle wax.

“Are you okay?” asked the man in black.

Tommy shook his head. “Not really. I, uh, I don’t know who I am."

The goth crossed his arms and grinned in amusement. “Are you having some kind of existential crisis?”

“I don’t know what that means. I think I need help...”

The young man’s smile fell from his lips as his eyes flicked down the length of Tommy’s body. “You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, and immediately ran to a nearby cabinet to retrieve a small box. A first aid kit, Tommy observed.

He coaxed Tommy over to the bed and sat him down. Taking a seat beside him, he cleaned Tommy's forearm first where the thornbushes had cut and then bandaged the deeper wounds. The young man winced when he looked up at Tommy’s forehead. He took a soft cloth and dabbed at him gently, his other hand bracing on Tommy's shoulder for balance.

Tommy wasn't sure why he allowed himself to be tended to in this way without even a question about who the guy was. Perhaps he needed the physical reassurance against the creeping discomfort of having no memory. But whatever the reason, he found himself leaning into the goth's touch, not retreating from it. He studied his host with curiosity. The young man had an expressive face; his intelligent blue eyes were riddled with concern, and his hands were firm but gentle as they continued their task of sopping up the blood from Tommy's brow. 

“It looks like you bashed your head on something. You’re probably concussed. Do you really not know who you are?” the young man asked, finally finishing and setting his kit on the floor. “What’s your name?”

“Thomas Dawkins,” Tommy answered.

The goth sighed in relief. “Good.”

“But I only know that because it’s on my license,” Tommy said as he reached into his pocket and flashed his ID to the goth.

The man glanced at it and then quickly back to Tommy. “This is just like Alex Proyas’ stunning 1998 neo-noir film, ‘Dark City’, starring Rufus Sewell and the lovely Jennifer Connelly.”

Something about the cadence and inflection of Merton's voice echoed familiarly in Tommy's brain. “What happened?”

The young man’s eyes lit up. “Well, the studio believed the narrative was too complicated for mainstream movie-goers, and forced Proyas to add an opening narration that gave away the plot. It went over poorly with audiences. Also it was released at the same time as ‘Titanic’, so, you know, the box office returns weren’t quite - "

Tommy pressed his hands to his eyes, shaking his head. Why would he care about box office returns? “No, dude. I meant in the movie. What happened in the movie?”

“Oh. A man wakes up in an odd location with amnesia and... Well, I guess it's not all that similar...” Merton trailed off.

Tommy fought the urge to glare. He got the distinct impression he'd only brought it up so he’d have a chance to complain about film studios. Instead of voicing the observation, Tommy settled for a deep sigh. “This sucks.”

The goth’s expression softened. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. Do you know who I am?”

Tommy shook his head in frustration.

“I’m Merton Dingle. We’re friends and we go to school together.”

That made sense Tommy supposed. “Okay. So do you want to take me to a hospital or something?”

“Uh, no,” Merton said firmly. "But you're safe here."

That wasn’t what Tommy expected. “Wait, why not?”

Merton drummed his fingers on his leg evasively and shrugged. “You can’t go to a hospital.”

Tommy rose from the bed. “But I really think I need - ”

“No, wait!” Merton said, grabbing Tommy by the shirt-sleeve. “Okay, look. All of the medical guides recommend letting an amnesiac’s memories return naturally, but this one is important, especially after that whole blood bank debacle. God only knows what you'll do if I don't tell you. Tommy, you can’t go to a hospital because you’re not human.”

Tommy gaped. “I’m - ?”

“You’re a werewolf. You transform on the full moon but also during periods of heightened emotion. Your blood is infectious and you can't risk anyone's exposure to it. More importantly, there's no telling what will happen if someone finds out what you are. Experimentation, dissection, lifetime imprisonment in a windowless government facility in the Mojave desert... I need you to listen to me - ”

This day couldn't possibly get any more absurd than it already was, and Tommy wasn’t having it. He snorted. “This is stupid! Look, I'm just gonna leave now...”

Merton bit his lip looking helpless. “Wait!” He ran over to his bedside table and grabbed something. “Here. Take this pen,” he said, holding it up in front of Tommy's face and wiggling it.

With a roll of his eyes Tommy snatched the pen from Merton's hand. The reaction was instantaneous. Searing pain cut into his palm. Tommy let out a yell that morphed into a deep snarl as he dropped the offending object to the floor. A hot rage ripped through his body, and Tommy grabbed Merton by the throat. When he slammed him into the nearest wall Merton's blue eyes darkened with terror. He choked on a word that sounded a lot like “paws”.

It was then that Tommy noticed the smoke rising from the very inhuman hand wrapped around Merton’s throat. He released him immediately and stared at it in horror. There were six fingers on his hand (no, make that paw) with sharp claws and fur trailing up the length of his arm.

Tommy ran to the mirror hanging over Merton’s bed, examining himself. Fangs, fur, yellow eyes. Merton was telling the truth. His mind raced with how to process this information. Today was like a bad dream. And just like that, one solitary memory resurfaced.

 

_Tommy standing in the corner of this very room, trapped in a net, and begging Merton for help. Merton quivering in fear as he held up a crucifix and Holy Water._

_"I thought you knew about me!"_

_"I have what's known as an overactive imagination! I didn't actually expect to be right!"_

 

Tommy slowly faded back into the present. After a few moments he turned guiltily to the man behind him. “I’m sorry.”

Merton had one white hand around his throat to soothe it and with the other he waved off the werewolf’s concern. His voice came out rough. “I burned you with a silver pen. Call us even.”

Tommy didn’t know where to begin with questions. He paced the floor. “Does my family know I’m a werewolf? Will they help me?”

“No. Almost no one knows besides me. A lot of people would pay real money to get their hands on you, so you need to be careful. And you can’t go to a hospital.” Merton’s expression lightened. “But an upside to your lycanthropy is super-healing, so I wouldn’t worry about permanent brain damage. You’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time.”

Somehow brain damage rated a distant second in Tommy's current concerns, and he ignored Merton's optimistic tone. _Fit as a fiddle_. Who talks like that? “How did I turn into a werewolf? How long have I been one? How did you find out? Is there a cure?”

Merton sighed. “Tommy, it's late. I really think you should just rest. You’ve had a traumatic brain injury, and it wouldn’t be good for me to tell you everything at once. Please just trust me. Your memories will resurface soon enough.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine. You look like you got into a fight with an angry cat-woman, and you don't even know your own name.” Merton turned away to rummage through one of his dresser drawers.

"No, really - " Tommy began to protest. His mind was racing too fast to even think of resting.

"Sleep," Merton demanded, throwing a wad of clothes at his chest.

Tommy caught them, his arguments dying on his tongue. A quick visual inspection of the grey sweatpants and white, threadbare t-shirt convinced him that these did not belong to his host. He sniffed them to confirm his suspicion. Under the faint smell of fabric softener was another scent that marked these items as his own.

“Martin - ?”

“Merton,” Merton interjected. “Yes?”

“Sorry! Uh, Merton. Are these...mine? Why do you have my clothes in your dresser?"

Merton looked startled by the question. The silence in the room was awkward, and it took the goth several moments to respond. "Y-yes, they're yours. You s-stay over a lot so it was just easier for you to leave some stuff here. You also have a toothbrush in the bathroom...blue handle..."

Now that was definitely weird. Tommy couldn't picture himself having frequent sleepovers with another guy as a high school senior. Tommy's brows drew together as he tried to discern what made Merton so uncomfortable, and the goth withered under his gaze. He didn't sense a lie though, and for some reason he felt certain he'd be able to tell if Merton wasn't being honest with him. Tommy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as the feeling of discomfort that he'd been suppressing clawed its way up into his throat. Everything about his situation was unnerving.

Another deep breath and then Tommy surrendered to his circumstances. There wasn't anything for him to do tonight anyway. He prayed Merton was right about super-healing and that he'd just wake up normal again the next morning.

"Alright, man. Where do you want me to sleep?"

"You've always just..." Merton trailed off, his hand gestured vaguely towards the bed before coming back to squeeze his own shoulder self-consciously.

Tommy took a confused look at the bed and back to Merton.  "But then where do you sleep?"

Merton stood a moment in hesitation. He opened his mouth to say something and seemed to immediately think better of it. He cleared his throat, and faked a smile. "I’ll take the couch upstairs. My parents are gone with my sister for the weekend anyway."

An equally false smile passed over Tommy's face. He suddenly realized he should be showing Merton a lot more gratitude than he had for all the help he'd given, especially if he was now going to be taking the guy's bed. "Alright. Thanks for all this.”

"Let me know if you need anything. Feel better, Tommy,” Merton said softly.

Tommy watched Merton leave, leather boots thunking heavily on the stairs until he reached the top and shut the door behind him. Tommy wondered what he’d been about to say.

 

 


	2. Two

 

Once alone, Tommy took off his clothes and threw them in a heap on the floor, putting on the sweatpants, and neglecting the shirt altogether. The silence of the room settled in.

Sighing, Tommy crawled between the soft sheets. The cool Egyptian cotton felt luxurious on his skin. Merton's scent clung to the bed, but it wasn't unwelcome. The guy seemed kind of weird, but he'd also been considerate and warm towards him. Anyway, it was the closest thing he had to familiarity with anything thus far.

As soon as he pulled the blankets over himself another memory blindsided him.

 

_Merton dragging him back to this room and into bed as Tommy faded in and out of consciousness. He held a cold cloth to Tommy's forehead._

_It was hard to think. Tommy was suddenly gripped with fear he wouldn't make it through this alive. He needed Merton to understand. "You're the best friend I ever had."_

_Merton's voice softened as though he were about to break into tears. "Really? You're my best friend too."_

_"I couldn't have done it without you..."_

 

Tommy nuzzled into the pillow trying to get closer to the smell, but found himself headbutting something hard. With a frown he reached under the pillowcase and pulled the object free. It was a PolySci book. Tommy opened it. His jaw dropped and he sat bolt upright.

There were photos. Dozens of photos. Tommy stared, transfixed as he flipped through the pages and saw each new picture of _himself_. Some of him in human form, the rest as a werewolf. Photos of his hair, teeth, paws, eyes… and then photo after photo of himself completely naked. Close-ups and full body shots, front to back. No part of him was left un-captured.

Tommy was mortified. Horror flooded him upon realization that the guy upstairs had these in his possession. Under his pillow. He felt so _violated._

Panic wasn’t going to help his situation. He swallowed and forced himself to look back at the explicit photographs, hoping to see some explanation in the pictures. Upon a second viewing he noticed something. None of the photos looked like they were taken without his knowledge. No, he actually  _posed_ for these. One of the images had Tommy standing in front of a mirror, the same mirror that sat now above Merton's bed, and in it's reflection was a glimpse of the photographer - a young man, spiky black hair, wearing a wide grin partially obscured by the camera flash...

Merton took these and Tommy had let him. 

Tommy _let_ him!

A thought occurred. Merton must be his…boyfriend? He considered that possibility. Was he gay? No, that didn't seem right. He liked women. Tommy's mind conjured up the image of a woman with long blonde hair and large breasts running in slow motion along a sandy beach. Yeah, there was no denying that did something for him.

And yet, Tommy still couldn't ignore the evidence he'd been presented with. Merton felt comfortable enough touching him, and cleaning his wounds without asking, and was confused that Tommy'd bothered to knock when he'd arrived. Merton didn't even think twice about whether Tommy might question sleeping in another man's bed. Had Merton intended them to share the bed? Was that what he meant to say before he left? It made sense. He had a drawer full of Tommy's clothes and his toothbrush. And, of course, naked pictures of him.

Then the rest of it, of course. The goth's petite build, blue eyes, and blinding smile held an appeal Tommy couldn’t exactly deny despite the awful situation he found himself in. Tommy's instincts told him to come here, and when he did, Merton took care of him. Somehow he must have known deep inside what Merton was to him even if he couldn't consciously remember. That was it. It had to be. They were in a relationship. 

Had they had sex? A flash of an image crossed Tommy’s mind, Merton underneath these soft, black, sheets with him, naked, and pressed against him, and… Tommy felt heat rising to his cheeks again, and he shook his head to clear away the image. He didn’t feel like he’d had sex, but on the other hand you don’t just let a guy you’re not sleeping with take nudes of you.

He considered going upstairs and confronting Merton about the book. Should he let him know that he knew? If the goth expected them to share the bed then maybe he should go to him. But Tommy wasn't sure how comfortable he was with that when he couldn't even remember anything about their relationship. Plus Merton had been so insistent about not forcing his memory. He might be upset if Tommy kept pushing for information.

Tommy shut the book and threw it in one of the drawers in the bedside table, scooting back into the bed. He said another silent prayer that his memories would miraculously return when he awoke and everything would be back to normal. He resolved to stop thinking about it. He continued thinking about it.

It was hours before the candles burned themselves out and Tommy finally drifted off to sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Tommy slept through the night, but his dreams were confused, filled with muddled fragments of memories fighting to return to the forefront of his consciousness. When he awoke with a start, he reached out to grasp some object of comfort, but there was nothing to hold on to.

The crisp smell of bacon wafted through the air and pulled Tommy the rest of the way from sleep. His mom must be... but she wasn’t here, was she? But he did _remember_ his mother, so that was something. The events of the previous night washed over him and he tried to soak it all in. He still felt foggy, certainly not all back to himself yet. There were large blank spots in his mind containing memories either blurred or inaccessible, but the impenetrable haze he felt yesterday was beginning to fade.  
  
Tommy rose from the bed and took in the sight of the goth’s bedroom, now more familiar to him, before deciding he was in desperate need of a shower. There was a towel and a washcloth neatly folded next to the bathroom sink. He wasn’t sure if Merton put them out for him during the night, or if he was just like that with having things laid out and prepared. Both seemed equally likely; Merton had shown himself to be a considerate caregiver, but also struck Tommy as an anal retentive.

Tommy thoughtlessly peeled off the blood-soaked bandages from his arms and forehead and tossed them in the trash bin by the sink. It was no surprise that most of the wounds were already fully healed. He stepped into the shower and took his time washing the blood from his extremities.

Once Tommy finished washing and drying himself, he grabbed his clothes off the floor only to find them still torn and bloody. He frowned, then with a shake of his head decided to hazard another guess about the state of things between himself and the goth, and reaching into Merton's dresser he found a pair of acid-washed blue jeans and an orange t-shirt. Surely these were his own as well?

He couldn’t shake the thoughts of what all of this meant. He was determined not to be embarrassed by the photos, and decided his best course of action was to try to act as normal as possible for Merton’s sake. The gravity of the situation was far from lost on him. If they were in a serious enough relationship to the point where they shared a bedroom most nights, Tommy would just have to man up and accept that. The last thing he needed was to hurt his boyfriend’s feelings and screw up a relationship he didn't even remember. Memories-intact Tommy would thank him. It was just complicated.

He dressed quickly, and followed the scent of breakfast up to its source and found Merton flipping pancakes in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Tommy ventured from the doorway, still unsure what was considered normal for them.

Merton jumped almost imperceptibly, but went immediately back to the task at hand. “Hey, Tommy. Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks for giving me the bed.”

Merton threw a wry smile at the pancake he was making and didn’t respond.  
  
“So…do you cook often?” Tommy asked, trying to come up with something to keep the mood light.  
  
“Often enough. I only cook when my parents aren’t home.”  
  
“They don’t let you?”  
  
Merton grimaced. “They would. I’d just rather not be upstairs with them if I don’t have to.”  
  
Obviously that wasn’t the right topic to pick. Tommy let the matter drop. He stood uncertain as Merton started dishing up their flapjacks and bacon. After he'd finished, Merton’s eyes flicked to Tommy’s face and down the length of him, and then with pursed lips he turned away and picked up both plates of food.

Tommy frowned, looking down at himself.  “What?”

“How are you feeling?”

Tommy shrugged. “Alright, I guess. My head doesn’t hurt, but I still can’t remember a lot of stuff.”

“And the gashes?”

“Yeah, they’re mostly better. I guess I heal quick.”

The goth took a step toward him, but his foot faltered and he settled for a stiff nod of acknowledgement.

“But…you want to check for yourself,” Tommy supplied, realizing what the look on Merton’s face meant. “You can if you want.”

Merton hesitated before he finally nodded, placed the full plates down on the dining table and quickly aided Tommy with his shirt. There was a distinctive flush covering his cheeks when he pulled back Tommy’s sleeve, but also something deeper than that. His relief at being allowed to touch was palpable. Merton swallowed as he examined the expanse of Tommy’s arms and chest. The goth’s fingertips ghosted over where one of the deeper cuts was near his collarbone. Tommy inhaled sharply.

“It uh – they seem to be healing well. No worse than you normally get from a fight.”

“Fight?” Tommy asked, brows drawing together. “I get in a lot of fights?”

“Oh.” Merton’s hands fell to his sides. Tommy could feel Merton mentally kicking himself for the slip up in volunteering information, but this time he didn’t hesitate to answer the question. “We occasionally have brushes with the forces of darkness, a plethora of assorted eldritch horrors. You fight them and help people. You’re not the only freak in this town.” Merton’s gaze turned fond.

Tommy wanted to protest the epithet but held his tongue. Merton seemed to intend it to be endearing. “Am I good at it?”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Merton said, grinning. “But you wouldn’t even know a banshee from a basilisk without my help. Now hang on, I need to check on that hematoma as well.”

“He-what?”

“Your head injury.” Merton was already up on his tiptoes doing a thorough check of the werewolf’s head, so Tommy leaned down to make it easier. After a long moment, Merton pulled away and frowned.

“Is it bad?”

“No, it’s nearly healed. The brain trauma is evidently taking a little longer. But you’re improving. Are you still experiencing any dizziness, nausea, confusion beyond the memory loss?”

“No.”

“Have you regained any more memories? Tell me what you know so far.”

Tommy struggled to create a picture. “I have a brother, he’s older than me. Mom is a reporter. Dad…something important. They're still married. I’m the Captain of the Angry Badgers. We hang out a lot? I remember bits and pieces about that. I always kick your butt at videogames.”

“You win because you _cheat_ ,” Merton scoffed and stalked away to sit down at the table. “Okay, well that’s better than yesterday at least. We’ll see how you fare throughout the day?”

“Alright, yeah.” Tommy sat down in front of his own breakfast, inhaling in the smell of fresh pancakes and bacon, and took a bite. God, it was good. “Hey, so should I be worried that my parents will come looking for me?”

“I already called your mom last night and told her you were staying over this weekend. You’re here a lot so she didn’t suspect anything,” Merton said.

 _“You’re here a lot.”_ The words brought Tommy back to his current sexuality crisis. He should just put it all out there so he could quit agonizing over it. “So, why _do_ you have all of these clothes here for me?” Tommy asked, pulling on the front of his orange t-shirt.

 “Like I said, you spend half of your nights here. It made sense to give you a drawer,” Merton shrugged. “I hang most of my clothes up anyway so I had the extra space.”

“And why do –“

“You sleep here?” Merton interrupted, looking mildly entertained, “Because your parents don’t know you’re a werewolf and it’s easier for you to not have to worry about them walking in on you all wolfy. Also, fighting evil usually means we’re out late, and your parents have a thing about you missing curfew when you’re home.”

Tommy pursed his lips, unsure how to further broach the subject if Merton wasn't going to be forthcoming. 

Merton gave an inquisitive glance at Tommy's frown. “I know you're frustrated that you're not all back yet, but it'll happen. And this is actually opportune in it's own way, getting to observe your condition up close like this. The rate of healing and its effect on your brain when you factor in your werewolf blood. I can’t do a CT scan here, obviously, but even without the equipment there are…”

Merton went on like that for several minutes... and Tommy started zoning out after about two. It wasn't that he was bored with what Merton was saying, exactly. More that Tommy would've had difficulty following Merton's train of thought as he jumped rapid-fire from one idea to the next even if he weren't preoccupied with his own thoughts. 

A small smile spread over the werewolf's mouth in spite of his inner turmoil. There was something attractive in it; the way Merton's voice lilted passionately, the excited flailing of his hands as his plate sat, forgotten, and untouched next to him, the electricity in his manner that seemed to animate his entire body. And especially his eyes. They were sharp and passionate and brilliantly blue. Merton's heart and soul, the whole of his being reflected in those eyes with unmasked emotion when he spoke.

Tommy had the very distinct impression no one else let Merton go on like this, and he wasn't going to stop Merton's rambling just because he couldn’t keep up with it. He scarfed down the last of his breakfast and pretended to listen to what Merton was talking about, nodding occasionally and losing himself in the familiar rhythm of his voice.

“…hence the need for – ” Merton paused, squinting at Tommy with suspicion. “Did I lose you somewhere?”

Tommy shook his head. “Nope, I got it. I really appreciate you doing all this for me.”

Merton’s eyes softened. “Of course.”

Tommy got up for a a second helping, and they ate in comfortable silence.

 


End file.
